


You Know I'm No Good

by lunasenzanotte



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drugs, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Italian Football, Italy, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Past Drug Use, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Sex Addiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 04:16:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1765096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunasenzanotte/pseuds/lunasenzanotte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a luxurious sanatorium on Ischia, the therapist Andrea Pirlo fails to see any hope for the patients there, until he meets Mario. Gigi Buffon sees hope everywhere, until Riccardo proves him wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> The fic was inspired by [this video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lzJnJVMo0XY&feature=player_embedded) of Balo playing the piano and Pirlo watching him.

**Everyone**

  
Andrea is sitting in the quiet garden of the Sant'Angelo Sanatorium on Ischia. In the other parts of the island, he would probably hear cars, music and loud voices, as it's the hour when the towns usually wake up here. But the only sounds he hears now are the sleepy birds and murmuring of the fountain in front of the main building. He's looking at the paper he had layed on the bench next to him. There's only his signature missing on it. Then he could leave this place behind.

 

It‘s Gigi who got Andrea this job. He made it sound like a paradise on Earth. The island in itself is a paradise and the sanatorium also looks like a safe haven. There probably isn't a better place to shelter people from the outside world than an island. But what shines from the outside is completely rotten on the inside, and after two years of working as a therapist here, Andrea feels like he's not just rotten but completely empty inside.

  
Not that the work isn't well-paid. It's a place where either rich parents send their kids when they're too tired or ashamed of their problems, addictions, troubles with behavior, or where the state hospitals send those who successfully tricked them into thinking that they were almost healed. They pay well and expect miracles. Money comes and goes and miracles never happen.

  
Andrea knows the kids, knows them all, by their problems more than by their names.

  
There is the cheeky Osvaldo, addicted to sex more than to anything else written in his medical record, and as much as it disgusts Andrea, he's by far the one with the most hope out of them all.

  
He knows Bonucci, once a good student and promising football player who can now sniff a drop of booze that is kilometers away. The living proof that no matter how good your character is, when your parents don't give a shit about you, you're likely to fuck your life up sooner or later.

  
Matri with his arms full of scars that will never disappear completely and open wounds inside that will never heal, mainly because whenever they start closing up, he self-inflicts some new ones. Son of rich parents who had enough of everything except a functioning family, who as a kid watched his father fuck the immigrant women who cleaned their immense house and his mother crying herself to sleep with a bottle of expensive whisky on the nightstand.

  
Marchisio, whose veins have more holes in them than anyone could ever count, but he counts only in comparisons to heroin doses anyways. Cheerfull in his highs, he would strangle his own mother in his low if it got him a gram of the white powder.

  
Montolivo, the 'Angelo of Sant'Angelo', as everyone calls him here, who can trick anyone with those big blue eyes and angelic face to get what he wants, or, in his case, rather needs. Who knows that he's hard to resist, that the doctors and staff here are just men and that it's his body that opens the medication cabinet for him more than anything else. Just like it used to opened the wallets of rich men and women before the addiction to the pills that were helping him not to mind it, got out of hand.

  
Andrea knows about all this and he doesn't care. Doesn't care who Osvaldo fucks or lets fuck him, doesn't consider it his personal failure when Bonucci gets hold of a bottle somewhere and they find him completely stoned in the garden of the sanatorium, doesn't get depressed by whatever stories about Matri's childhood he hears, true or not, he's oblivious to Marchisio's offers of whatever he would give for a fix of the stuff the doctors think him to be off by now, doesn't get mad when Montolivo makes himself a cocktail out of amphetamines and goes to watch the stars on the beach during high tide. Not anymore.

  
He thinks about leaving, thinks about it a lot. He talks about it with Gigi as well. Gigi discourages him every time, and yet Andrea knows he's no less oblivious to whatever is going on in here, only he doesn't keep the distance Andrea keeps. He knows well that it's Gigi the boys all go to with their offers and desires, and Gigi rarely says no.

  
Andrea doesn't care on the outside, but it keeps nagging at his conscience somewhere deep inside. Sometimes he wishes he didn't have to see Osvaldo's provocative smile every day, wishes he was somewhere far away where Matri's eyes wouldn't haunt him, wishes he didn't hear Montolivo's sweet, almost childish laughter when he once more gets Gigi to open the treasure chest with chemical diamonds for him.

  
And as he watches the quiet garden and listens to the birds chirping, he comes to the understanding that the boys have no hope and he's only losing his own here. He signs his notice and goes inside.

 

**Andrea and Mario**

 

He walks in the common room and looks around. Matri is staring into the wall blindly, probably replaying some of the worst memories he has organized in his mind like a giant collection of DVDs. Bonucci is reading a book, trying to ignore Marchisio, who's repeatedly poking him and calling him a nerd. Osvaldo is chatting up Montolivo. Andrea laughs in his mind.  _You're not getting anything from this one, unless you have a bottle of his favorite pills somewhere under your pillow._  


  
And then he sees him, the new one, Balotelli, Mario, as he realizes that strangely he remembers his first name while he usually takes up the nicknames the boys give each other. His criminal record is longer than his medical one, and that's some achievement. Weed, alcohol, aggressive behavior, just three points that randomly come to Andrea's head when he sees him.

  
He is sitting by the piano that is in the corner and that nobody ever uses (probably Osvaldo once used it when he was bored of all the other places he's already had sex on) but that the director of the sanatorium, Prandelli, refuses to throw out, probably because it makes this place look more civilized. Mario's fingers are rested on the keyboard, like he's trying to remember some piece of music. Andrea comes closer and when he lays his hands on the desk of the piano, Mario starts to play. It takes Andrea little time to recognize the Italian anthem and it brings a smile to his lips. It's far from perfect, even Andrea who can't play the piano at all can hear some little mistakes, but the style Mario plays in makes up for it completely. For a while he seems to be entirely lost in the music, he looks like a little child playing and yet there's something mature in his face. Nobody would believe that only a few weeks ago he was walking the streets of Milan, drunk, with clothes completely soaked in the sweetish smell of weed, kicking dustbins and random people just for fun.

  
Mario stops playing and looks up, his eyes meeting Andrea's. He gives a small, almost shy smile. And in that moment, Andrea sees what he couldn't see before. The small ray of hope, the purpose of being here that he had thought never existed. He understands that there is hope until everyone gives up.

  
He decides that if nobody else, he will save this one, whatever it takes.

  
He goes to his office, takes the signed notice out of his pocket, rips it in half and throws it in the trash.

  
***

  
There are days when Andrea feels like an elementary school headmaster. When he introduces a young medic who, probably full of ideals and interest in psychology, was foolish enough to ask for an internship at the sanatorium, he almost feels like he's speaking to a class of problematic kids.  _What else are they, anyway?_  


  
"This is Miss De Pin. She's studying psychology and she will be here with us for her internship."

  
Everyone seems to be blatantly unimpressed and the girl becomes nervous, clutching her file with papers tightly.

  
"You can call me Cristina," she says in a friendly voice.

  
It doesn't look like anyone in the room feels like calling her anything. Andrea takes a breath.

  
"Well, Cristina specializes in art therapy," he says. "So you will have these sessions with her from now on."

  
He nods encouragingly. She seems to find some self-confidence when they come to the actual thing.

  
"I will just give you a blank piece of paper," she explains. "And you can express your feelings on it. Whatever you're feeling right now. Put it on the paper."

  
When Andrea goes to check on them later, he half expects the room to be already on fire and the girl hiding somewhere under a table, but the atmosphere is strangely calm. Matri is enthusiastically filling the paper with black and grey smudges. Bonucci is painting some geometric figures, Osvaldo is attempting to draw the medic's nude while Mario is splashing colors on the paper, trying to make as much of them as possible to end up on the people in the room. Marchisio is absent-mindedly making colorful dots on the paper. Montolivo is staring into the ceiling, his paper and colors untouched.

  
When the session is over, Cristina goes to collect the papers. She stops at Montolivo's table.

  
"I asked you to express your feelings," she says.

  
"Show me," Osvaldo says and looks over her shoulder at the empty paper. "Oh, that's actually accurate. Because Angelo has no feelings."

  
Montolivo gives him a bored look.

  
"Are we done with this nonsense?" he asks nonchallanty, making the girl nervous again.

  
"Why, I like it!" Mario grins and splashes some more color on Marchisio's face.

  
Andrea ends the session quickly, trying to assure the girl that for a first time she did well. By the look on her face, though, he can tell that there is yet another one who will soon reconsider her choice of orientation.

  
***

  
When he was younger, Andrea thought all therapists had to go crazy sooner or later after listening to so many people's problems. He doesn't think that anymore. He has built walls around him, now it feels like there is another Andrea sitting in the armchair with a notepad and a pencil while others talk about their problems.

  
Listening to Osvaldo is like listening to a porn industry magnate. Bonucci likes to pity himself. Matri would go on for hours if Andrea wouldn't stop him when they run out of time and paper tissues. Marchisio either laughs hysterically or stays silent the whole time. Montolivo takes the sessions as opportunity to practice his acting skills, batting his eyelashes at Andrea, playing all innocent. Only when Andrea ignores him for too long, he flashes him the other side of Riccardo Montolivo, the arrogant-as-fuck golddigger who either gets what he wants or makes other people's lives a hell on Earth.

  
Mario doesn't do anything like that. He lays on the sofa, throws his feet on the armrest and looks at Andrea like he expects him to start talking instead of him, like he's the therapist there.

  
"I noticed you liked the art therapy," Andrea notes.

  
Mario grins.

  
"It was fun."

  
"And you also play the piano."

  
"No, not really," Mario shakes his head. "I mean, I suck big time."

  
"Overall, you don't seem to fit in here, I would say," Andrea notes, looking at Mario.

  
"Because I'm not a sexual maniac, not really an alcoholic, junkie, I don't self harm and I'm not a sociopath? Well, I have other problems, never had time for that."

  
"You've just successfully diagnosed all the other patients."

  
"Shouldn't you be doing that, though?"

  
"I've already done that, the purpose is to cure them."

  
"You're such an optimist!" Mario chuckled. "If you think you can cure any of them."

  
"And if I think that I can cure you?"

  
"And what is it you want to cure me of?"

  
Truth is that Andrea doesn't really know. Mario indeed doesn't seem to be addicted to anything, and smoking weed or getting drunk from time to time doesn't actually land anyone in a place like this.

  
"Why do you think you are here?"

  
"Because the world outside can't handle me?"

  
Andrea chuckles.

  
"And this place can handle you?"

  
Mario raises a brow.

  
"I don't know. Can you handle me, doctor?"

  
There is some strange undertone in those words, or maybe Andrea is just imagining it. He coughs and decides to skip the question.

  
"You know why I said you don't seem to fit in here?" he asks instead.

  
"To give me hope?"

  
"I said it because you still are interested in something else than what brought you here. You still feel something more than self-pity. And that's a good start."

  
The look in Mario's eyes suggests he's actually trying to process Andrea's words, which is something the others never do.

  
"Could be," he nods then. "The problem is, doctor, when I get out of here, there's nothing to go to, other than my old life."

  
Andrea smiles, because even though the words are not spoken, it's clear that he doesn't want to go back to it. That's another thing that Andrea never hears.

  
"Let's start with that, shall we?" he says.

  
***

  
When he returns to his office, he finds Gigi sitting in his chair, waving at him with a few pieces of paper. Andrea recognizes his notice and regrets he didn't take care of hiding it better.

  
"Felt like quitting again, didn't you?" Gigi asks like Andrea is the biggest coward on Earth.

  
"Yeah. But I made up my mind."

  
"Good."

  
"After all, who else would do it when the youngsters will quit before even getting the postgraduation certificate?" Andrea sighs. "Like this girl who tried art therapy on the likes of Montolivo and Marchisio."

  
"Did she survive the first day?" Gigi grins.

  
"Yeah, quite well, actually. Just Osvaldo drew her naked picture and Montolivo drew nothing at all."

  
"Well, that says all about them."

  
Andrea prefers not to say anything. He knows well that there is something between Gigi and Montolivo, not a relationship nor even an affair, but there are small things that Gigi simply can't say 'no' to. After all, Montolivo is just Gigi's type and he has the right balance of submissiveness and cockiness that Gigi likes. Those are just Andrea's observations, though. Anytime he tries to bring Montolivo up, Gigi gets defensive. And when Gigi gets defensive, nothing can move him.

  
"By the way, Prandelli wanted to talk to you," Gigi says then.

  
"Why?" Andrea frowns.

  
Gigi just shrugs.

  
"No idea. But I suspect he wants to get rid of Marchisio already, so he'll probably try to get you to sign his release statement."

  
Andrea chuckles.

  
"Yeah, and Marchisio will shoot up before he even reaches the port to get out of Ischia. No way."

  
He closes the door behind him and heads out in the garden.

  
***

  
Prandelli's office and also the apartment he has here, are in the building at the other side of the garden. He crosses it, noticing how there's suddenly a completely different feel to it. It's not a safe haven anymore because Andrea isn't hiding anymore. He fights something that is maybe a little war, against himself, against the world, against the resigned faces here, against Mario's demons that he is sure are hiding somewhere underneath the barriers of baggy clothing, stern face and sharp tongue.

  
Then he sees Mario on one of the benches partly hidden between the trees. Staring in the sky, cigarette between his lips. He gives Andrea a smile that is not exactly guilty, more like cheekily apologetic.

  
Andrea sits next to him. The sky turns pink with bloody red smudges.

  
"It's beautiful here, isn't it?" Mario says suddenly.

  
Andrea nods. Then he turns to Mario.

  
"Why aren't you..."

  
"Inside? With that lot?" he chuckles. "I know them enough already, there's nothing more I would like to know about them."

  
"What do you know about them?"

  
Mario takes a deep drag out of the cigarette.

  
"They hate each other, but unite to plot against you. Half of them is glad to be here because they have nowhere else to go, the other half is trying to trick you so that they could get out as soon as possible."

  
"And you?" Andrea asks. "You don't want to get out of here?"

  
Mario shrugs.

  
"I do. But not now. Only when I'm ready."

  
He dabs the cigarette end in the metal leg of the bench and throws it on the ground. Andrea makes a mental note to clean it up later before Prandelli notices it.

  
"I don't want to be there with them," Mario says then and looks Andrea in the eyes. "I prefer someone else. Someone quiet. Like you."

  
Before Andrea can say something, Mario's lips are on his and his tongue sneaks into his mouth. He tastes of smoke and nicotine but despite being a persuaded non-smoker, this time Andrea doesn't mind it. The kiss is long and surprisingly delicate and once it's over, it leaves a strange, bitterweet aftertaste. There's nothing more than the kiss. They stay on the bench, quiet, just watching the sunset, before Andrea gets up and finally heads to Prandelli's office.

  
***

  
When he crosses the common room, Andrea sees exactly what Mario summarized for him. The boys sticking together like a bunch of schoolkids up to some nasty business, but yet everyone is mocking the others and only cares about himself.

  
He prefers not to see any of it now. He wants to keep the pleasant feelings from this evening. He closes the door of his office behind him and without switching the lights on, sits in his chair and closes his eyes.

  
***

  
"I'm bored," Montolivo informs everyone like he expects people to start juggling with apples just to amuse him.

  
"Yeah," Marchisio agrees. "Someone could at least try to kill himself. What do you say, Ale? Just a little bit, we promise we won't let you die unless you tell us to!"

  
Matri turns to him and gives him a compassionate smile which suggests he has one of his better days. Otherwise he would start contemplating it.

  
"Okay, Ale doesn't feel like it today," Marchisio sighs.

  
"It would be boring anyways," Osvaldo smirks. "It's always him."

  
Cristina walks across the common room and heads towards the infirmary. She notices Montolivo watching her attentively as she unlocks the door. She turns around and smiles before disappearing in the room.

  
"Suddenly you're not ignoring her?" Bonucci snorts.

  
No answer.

  
"Hello!" Marchisio calls and waves his hand in front of Montolivo's eyes.

  
"Angelo saw a pretty girl," Osvaldo says.

  
"No," Montolivo corrects him. "I saw someone who has the keys."

**Gigi and Riccardo**   


  
Gigi is usually the last person to go to bed in the building. He's a night owl (that's what he says) or an insomniac (that's what Andrea says). He spends the nights either watching TV, trying to make the internet work for him (there's not a place on the planet Earth with a worse internet connection than Ischia) or just wandering about the facility. He also always makes a little round to check everything before he really goes to bed. Marchisio once said he had the habits of a prison guard. And Marchisio surely knows what he's talking about, because before landing him here, his addiction landed him in jail as well.

  
He switches off the lights in the hall and the common room. Just when he's about to continue to his room, something catches his attention. The door of the infirmary is ajar, even though Gigi remembers locking it in the evening. He walks in and switches on the light. One of the cupboards is open. It should be locked as well. Then he spots the keys laying on the floor. He recognizes the little plush keychain. Cristina's keys.

  
He storms out of the infirmary and runs towards the rooms. He knows which one to enter. When he opens the door and switches on the lights, Mario groans, winces and hides his head under the blanket.

  
"Fuck off, whoever you are!" he mumbles.

  
"Where is your friend, Mario?" Gigi asks.

  
"I don't have friends," Mario snorts. "And if you mean Montolivo, I don't give a fuck about where he went. At least I can sleep in peace... well, I could, before you came."

  
Gigi can hear other door opening and some steps approaching. He turns around and sees Andrea's sleepy face.

  
"What's up?" Andrea asks.

  
"Montolivo is up, again!" Gigi snaps. "While I go to find that idiot, you ask De Pin how he came to this."

  
He hands Andrea the keys and starts towards the main entrance.

  
"Maybe she should explain it directly to Prandelli!" he yells over his shoulder and bangs the door behind him.

  
***

  
The only reason why Gigi is glad that this situation is already familiar to him is that he at least has an idea where to look. The first time Prandelli called the police right away. When it happened for the second time, Gigi tried the same place they found Riccardo on before, and he was right. Now he is almost sure he will find him there, on the small beach below the sanatorium.

  
Nobody cares about putting street lamps here and Gigi is convinced that he will trip over something, roll down the steep hill and kill himself. Then, if Riccardo drowns before he finds him, he can as well kill himself too because otherwise Prandelli will do it.

  
The beach is dark and quiet, but not dark enough for Gigi not to make out the shapes of things. He curses under his breath, kicks off his shoes and walks in the water.

  
"You aren't going to try to swim to Naples from here, are you?" Gigi asks when he reaches Riccardo.

  
"Why not? We could have a race!" Riccardo says and turns to him.

  
Gigi takes him by the shoulders and leads him towards the shore.

  
"So another time you got lucky," he notes quietly. "Poor girl doesn't know you yet. Do you realize you got her in trouble now?"

  
Riccardo throws his head back, laughs and then turns to Gigi.

  
"Yeah, I've been bad, Gigi, punish me!"

  
In the next moment, Riccardo's lips are on Gigi's. He tastes of the salty water. It takes surprisingly much effort to get Riccardo off him, with his fingers clawing at Gigi's arms. And Gigi had thought he was strong.

  
"You're fucking high!" Gigi growls, finally pinning Riccardo down in the wet sand.

  
"Yeah, I am!" Riccardo laughs. "But don't worry, I'm actually better when I'm high."

  
"Stop it now."

  
Riccardo gives him one of his practiced innocent looks.

  
"I love you, Gigi."

  
"You don't."

  
Riccardo chuckles and sits up, looking at the waves spreading on the sand in front of him.

  
"You're right, I don't. But I could pretend that I do."

  
He turns to Gigi with a more serious face.

  
"But still... I could get this from anyone. Not just Osvaldo, who would be certainly overjoyed... I could get it from Matri, Marchisio, even Balotelli, probably if I put some effort in it, from Pirlo as well. So why do I want you?"

  
"I don't know," Gigi says, trying to control his voice which is so damn hard with Riccardo running his fingers absent-mindedly up his sleeve. He pushes them away when they reach his shoulder. "No."

  
"Why not? You never say no!"

  
"I have boundaries!"

  
"So a little flirt is alright, some making out is alright, but something serious isn't?" Riccardo pouts like an annoyed child before smiling impishly. "Nobody can see us here. Nobody has to know."

  
"Stop it now!" Gigi yells and on sudden impulse slaps Riccardo's face.

  
Damn it to seven hells, he's fucked. He only doesn't know if for hitting a patient or for letting him distress him enough to make him hit him. The slap works like magic, though. Riccardo stops laughing, stops digging his fingers into Gigi's muscles, stops talking. Instead, he puts his hand on the place where Gigi hit him and curls up into a ball, not caring at all about the water that is now starting to reach him again.

  
Gigi waits for what seems like eternity. Then he touches him tentatively.

  
"I thought maybe I could put my shit together," Riccardo mumbles. "With you, that I could..."

  
He sits up and shakes his head, letting drops of salty water fly around.

  
"No, then. I'll do it differently."

  
Gigi looks at him and for the first time sees what he was refusing to see. That this boy is too far gone for salvation.

  
***

  
Prandelli is waiting for them in the common room. He frowns when he sees them both looking like they took a swim in their clothes.

  
"Well, nice to see you back, Riccardo," he says in a calm voice.

  
Riccardo smirks and plops down on the sofa, not giving a damn about making it wet. Gigi wants to tell Prandelli that it's not the right time for reprimanding him because when he comes off the high, the best thing to do is to let him sleep the effects off. He can already see in the way Riccardo moves that he's sleepy and tired, thus irritable and distracted. But Prandelli likes these little shows and Gigi knows better than to take Prandelli's favorite fun from him.

  
"Miss De Pin is your therapist," Prandelli says. "She is here to help you and you should respect her."

  
Riccardo just lets out a derisive laughter.

  
"It's not like I raped her!" he snaps then. "She fucking liked it. Just ask her how she liked it, little slut. And come on, normally I take more than just keys."

  
By the shocked look on Prandelli's face Gigi can say that he had heard another version of the story. Riccardo gets up and there is some strange grace in it, despite his clothes being still damp and dirty from the wet sand.

  
"Where are you going?" Gigi asks.

  
Riccardo promptly ignores him and disappears in the corridor. They can hear the sound of door being closed. And somehow Gigi feels nothing, only some weak relief that Prandelli didn't notice the red bruise on Riccardo's cheekbone.

  
***

  
The next night Gigi sees Riccardo fucking Alessandro Matri.

  
Riccardo knows Gigi is watching and Gigi knows that he knows. He still doesn't move from the spot and lets him do it. Like it's the last drop he needs.

  
Riccardo makes it a show and makes it a good one. The kisses are sloppy, open-mouthed, and if Gigi didn't knew him, he would almost think Alessandro is all Riccardo ever desired. But of course he isn't. He just reads Alessandro's mind better than any of the therapists ever did, puts on the right face and says the right words, makes him feel loved and desired. Gigi knows all the faces of Riccardo, but not this one. The slow, languid moves, the tenderness when he kisses the scars on Alessandro's arms, so hard to believe it isn't genuine. Any person with a brain would ask themselves why Riccardo would make a move after months of ignoring them, but certainly not Alessandro. Riccardo knew who to choose. Someone who desperately craves attention, affection, love and the feeling of safety.

  
From time to time Riccardo's eyes flicker to the door where he more feels than sees Gigi. It's like each look is a question.  _Don't you wish it was you I kiss like this? Don't you wish it was your cock I suck? Don't you wish you could touch me like he touches me?_  


  
And truth is that Gigi does wish all this, but at the same time it worries him, almost scares him. He turns away and finally leaves his spot, but not quickly enough not to hear Alessandro breathe out Riccardo's name and make him wish he could do the same.

  
***

  
He talks to Prandelli the next morning, for the first time being honest, for the first time saying what he should have said months earlier. Prandelli listens, then nods without saying a single word. There's no reprimanding, no big show, no discussion. Gigi is grateful for it.

  
***

  
The next day, he lets Matri's father to yell at him. Lets him call everyone at the sanatorium useless bunch of idiots who can't do their work right, lets him threaten with suing them, he doesn't care. He just needs Alessandro gone for Alessandro's own sake because he can't make Riccardo leave instead. As it was the state who sent him there and it's the state paying for it, there is no way to get rid of him other than giving him the release statement. And no one in his right mind would do that.

  
Riccardo stands next to him when he watches Matri's father's car drive through the gates.

  
"Trying to ruin my plans, aren't you?" he asks.

  
"I am," Gigi nods calmly.

  
"So naive," Riccardo smiles condescendingly. "You can't ruin my plans, whatever you do. Just alter them. But in the end, I'll get what I want. I always do."

  
"So what is the next step?" Gigi asks.

  
"To get out of here," Riccardo says. "I'm giving it three months."

  
"Nobody will let you out of here in three months."

  
"Prandelli will," Riccardo smiles. "Watch me heal miraculously, Gigi. You've never seen such an obedient patient before."

  



	2. Two

~ TWO YEARS LATER ~

 

**Andrea and Mario**

  
Andrea walks out of the building and looks around the garden. It still looks the same, he already knows every stone and every straw of grass here.

  
The building is still the same, the garden as well, and the patients and problems are still the same, even though they have different names. It's Andrea who is different. He sees things differently, feels different, treats the patients differently.

  
A car stops in front of the gates. Andrea frowns. They don't expect anyone and it's not like this place has many visitors. The gates open and the car drives in. The gravel creaks under the wheels until it stops. The door opens and the driver steps out of the car.

  
Andrea doesn't recognize him at first, because the baggy clothes and omnipresent cigarettes are missing. He doesn't look like a street kid anymore. He makes Andrea think of music videos, with the rapper-like cap, tight white tee, shades covering his eyes, chains around his neck and studs in his ears. It's too much, but Andrea knows with Mario it's always too much or too little.

  
"So you're still here," Mario states.

  
"Still here," Andrea smiles.

  
***

  
They walk around the garden, then stop just at the right bench, without having to say anything. Andrea sits down and watches Mario fiddle with his car keys. He knows he would light a cigarette if he had one, but apparently he decided to get rid of all his addictions, nicotine being no exception.

  
"Why are you here?" Andrea asks him.

  
Mario takes off his shades and looks at the sky that is starting to turn pink, the characteristic shade of this place and this season.

  
"Milan is loud," he says quietly. "I guess I needed to get out. Someplace quiet."

  
He looks at Andrea. There is still some of the former wilderness in his eyes, but it's less rough.

  
"I found out there was something missing in my life," he says. "I have a job, a place to stay, a car, some friends that even have clean criminal records... I guess it's all you can ask for. At least two years ago I wouldn't believe I could ever have any of that. But it's all hectic, loud, it's like running on a running belt and you can't slow down or else you fall. There's something missing. Someone."

  
"Someone?" Andrea repeats.

  
Mario nods.

  
"Someone quiet. Like you."

  
The kiss is different now, it tastes different. Andrea savors it, not caring about who could see them, because Mario is no more his patient and it's nobody's business.

  
"I also wanted to thank you," Mario says then. "I am a new person now. And I'm who I am thanks to you."

  
Andrea smiles and kisses him again. He now knows that he stayed on Ischia for a reason. He was wrong to think that there wasn't any hope in this world.

 

 

**Gigi and Riccardo**

  
Gigi doesn't know how he even got to that party, because he's not exactly a party animal. And most of all he hates parties like this, with people in suits lounging around in dim light, ambient music and uninteresting conversations. But he's there anyway, because his girlfriend had asked him to, and because he has nothing better to do.

  
And then Gigi sees him, talking to some men who look like bored businessmen.

  
He's wearing designer clothes, moves his hand just right so that his sleeve rolls up to reveal the expensive watch on his wrist, acts like he never drank anything else than the best champagne. Gigi doesn't understand where it came from because the last time he saw Riccardo Montolivo, he had nothing but the release statement Prandelli presented to him with undeserved pride.

  
Then Alessandro Matri appears next to him, clings to him like Riccardo is his only hope in this whole damn world, and Gigi understands.

  
He approaches Alessandro when Riccardo is gone to attend to some more guests like he owns this fucking place. Alessandro looks delighted to see Gigi, but it's the strange delight of someone going out of the house after being held there for too long.

  
"I wouldn't expect you at such party," he says.

  
"Oh, my girlfriend got an invitation but couldn't come," Gigi smiles. "She thought it would be impolite if at least one of us didn't show up. I personally don't even know the company that's hosting it."

  
"Actually, it's my company," Alessandro says calmly. "I inherited it from my father."

  
"I didn't know your father died."

  
"Last year," Alessandro nods with some strange bluntness.

  
"My condolences."

  
"Thank you."

  
Gigi narrows his eyes. There is something odd in everything that's happening around him. Like he's walked into a movie where everyone knows their lines, except of him.

  
"At first, I wanted to sell the company, because I wouldn't know what to do with it," Alessandro continues like they are back on Ischia and are having a therapy session. "But Riccardo convinced me not to. He takes care of it. I think he's good, though I can't even count the money in my wallet right."

  
Now everything is becoming much clearer.

  
"Your father would be glad," Gigi says.

  
Alessandro nods.

  
"I didn't think I liked him that much, I mean after all that happened, but he was my only family. So it was hard."

  
"Good that you had Riccardo by your side, then."

  
"No, Riccardo only came to Milan after my dad died," he says and then pauses.

  
Gigi practically hears that  _something_  click in Alessandro's brain.

  
***

  
He's pretty sure Riccardo noticed him before, but acted like he didn't know who Gigi was. Now he can't stay away anymore. He's clever enough to notice something is going on. He sees Gigi, sees Alessandro's expression, and puts two and two together. With a charming smile he excuses himself, leaves a group of businessmen's wives and hurries to take Alessandro around his waist.

  
"What's up?" he asks with such concern that Gigi would entrust him with his own children if he didn't know him.

  
Alessandro looks at him with the expression of someone whose world is falling apart.

  
"Do you really love me?" he asks breathlessly, like a scared child.

  
Gigi notices the cloud passing over Riccardo's face before he puts his professional reassuring smile on.

  
"What kind of a question is that?" he whispers. "Of course I do!"

  
It's not enough to convince him, Riccardo knows that as well as Gigi does. He had to hear the stories of Alessandro's childhood many times. Alessandro's parents taught him not to believe in the 'I love you' phrase. His father used to say it, and then he would forget about his existence, about whatever was important for Alessandro at that time, because there was yet another maid he needed to fuck. His mother used to say the same thing, and then she quit. 'I love you, Alessandro,' she said, a faint whiff of the expensive perfume with an undertone of whisky in her breath, a kiss on the cheek and then she was gone, transformed into a distant voice on the telephone, fake laughter and clinking of glasses in the background as she listened to whatever he wanted to tell her, without actually caring about any of it. He decided to stop calling her then. Sank a razor in his wrist for the first time instead. It felt slightly better.

  
"But..." he starts and looks at Riccardo.

  
"Listen, love!" Riccardo says quickly, pulling Alessandro away from the chatting groups of people to a quiet corner. "It's been too much, too much for you. I understand. We'll go home, you'll get some sleep and wake up with much clearer head, alright?"

  
"You'll never leave me, right?" Alessandro asks like he wasn't even listening to all that.

  
"Of course not. Never."

  
Riccardo looks around carefully, then reaches in his pocket and fishes out a small bottle of pills. In the bad light and from the distance Gigi can't tell what they are, but he can imagine. Riccardo takes one pill and lightly touches Alessandro's lips. He lays it on his tongue, lifts the glass of champagne to his lips, closes his mouth again, pecks him on the lips and pets his hair like he would an obedient dog. It makes Gigi almost physically sick and he knows that he can't stay there for a minute longer.

  
***

  
He gets wasted in a little bar just around the corner, watching the lights of the cars passing by. He now knows that he had left Ischia for a reason. He was wrong when he thought there was any hope left in this world.

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to state that I love Riccardo Montolivo and I have no idea why he came out as such bastard... (But on the other hand, I'm the one who invented Psycho!Monty and he just got out of control...)


End file.
